


Brocade

by BrightBlueEyes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightBlueEyes/pseuds/BrightBlueEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't want to take the stupid picture. John distracts him a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brocade

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago there was a photo of Martin that went around tumblr. It very quickly got attached to one of Benedict and became at the very least, my screensaver.  
> http://tinypic.com/r/otev6b/6  
> This is the ficlet that fell out of my brain as soon as I saw it :)

Sherlock fiddled with the tie for about three seconds. He didn’t wear ties. Not even for Mycroft. Especially not for Mycroft. He didn’t see why his brother was insisting that John’s blog needed better pictures. Something about a better public image. Then again, if it meant getting rid of the one of him in that hat… Deciding he had wasted enough time thinking about this particular inconvenience, he wandered out of his room in search of his phone. Apparently, the photographer had made himself at home. Their living room was rearranged in a haphazard fashion, books and papers moved about. The coffee table was shoved in the corner and John and his chairs had been moved almost as an afterthought. The photographer had brought his own furniture evidently. Something of an opulent, almost oriental pale green with red and gold leaves in a chaise shape was in front of the fireplace.

But what caught his eye and kept it was John. John in a chair that was not one of theirs. His John who had, instead of petulantly forgoing the tie, had instead elegantly and subtly, as is his way, fashioned it into something fancy and put it in his pocket. His army doctor who was looking nothing like his usual jumper covered peace making self. Oh no, dressed like this and you could very clearly see the John that had tamed Sherlock with his perfect balance of strong and patient, love and protect, gentle and firm. Being everything he needed and never thought he wanted.

“Oh…”

John looked up from the leather chair and instantly his face softened. Sherlock barely registered the soft gasp from the photographer and the only slightly harsher click of the camera.

“Hello, love.” Sherlock followed John’s gaze to his neck and his heart warmed at the resulting smile of “I-knew-he-wouldn’t-wear-the-tie.” John put his hand out and Sherlock came, laced his fingers through Johns and went to his knees in front of John, head on his lap. There was some whispering and a click as the photographer shut the door behind himself. John ran his fingers through his detective’s soft hair and down to massage at the nape of his neck and lightly caress the mole he so loved to kiss.

“Alright?”

Instead of attempting to use the words he so often faltered with when it came to matters of his heart, Sherlock lifted his head and reached for John’s face. On his knees in front of him, they were at the perfect height. Sherlock thumbed at John’s forehead, touching the lines there, checking for new ones and finding none. He ran his middle finger down John’s hairline and touched his thumb to his nose. His left hand came up to rest on John’s neck and hold, thumb at his jaw, fingertips in the short hairs at the base of his neck. His right thumb drifted down and caught at John’s bottom lip as he moved in closer, bumping John’s nose in affection before claiming his bottom lip.

“So much, John. So much…” whispered Sherlock against John’s lips.

John’s fingers tightened in the shirt at Sherlock’s sides as he kissed the side of John’s mouth and the stubble on the side of his chin. He smiled and rubbed his nose along the underside of John’s jaw and up behind his ear where his tongue snaked out and ran along the shell. John jumped and laughed a little when Sherlock bit the top of his ear. He stopped when Sherlock’s hands gripped his arse and yanked him forward in the chair enough to bring their cocks into effective alignment. John latched onto his neck under his bright starchy white shirt and bit down for all he was worth. Sherlock folded in two and cursed John for doing up all of his damned buttons. Sherlock shoved forward a little so he was holding John down in the chair and John’s head kicked sideways and was hanging off the arm to the left. He ground himself down again into John’s cock and whispered into his ear.

“How long until he comes back?”

“About…about 45 minutes I think.” John clutched Sherlock’s hips to his and ground upwards.

“Good.” said Sherlock. “I have a tie I’m not using….”


End file.
